


Sweetest Creature

by yourenotfree



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: And Lots of It, Fluff, M/M, Read at Your Own Risk, Seriously people, as always, canon compliance, full of love, louis is harry's sweetest creature, or at least my version of canon, this is the epitome of tooth-rotting fluff, tinged with angst, ultimately very hopeful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 23:31:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12000222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourenotfree/pseuds/yourenotfree
Summary: The door swings open before Harry has a chance to do it himself, and a blur of warm flesh and strikingly blue eyes catapults itself into Harry’s waiting arms.Or, Louis is Harry's sweetest creature (duh).





	Sweetest Creature

**Author's Note:**

> Every once in a while, we all need a little reminder that no matter what, or where, or who, these two boys will always find a way back home. 
> 
> I like to think that H and L always share their music with each other first. From that headcanon, this fic was born.

Harry is offering his goodbyes to the interviewer and his own crew, when a stark, black limousine arrives at the back entrance. One of his bodyguards—Adam—delivers this news, after a short conversation via walkie-talkie. Harry cannot contain his smile, wide and blinding, as he races down long corridors and throws open double doors, until he finally ( _finally_ ) reaches the limo. He puts one hand on the handle, and feels simultaneously whole again.

 

The door swings open before Harry has a chance to do it himself, and a blur of warm flesh and strikingly blue eyes catapults itself into Harry’s waiting arms.

 

Harry’s eyes flutter shut. As they stumble backwards, he places a stabilizing hand on the limo, allowing the second boy to recline against it. Harry fences him in with his body, reveling in the way a pair of arms fit themselves snugly around his waist.

 

“Hi,” Louis Tomlinson says against Harry’s neck.

 

He smells like fresh air and clean laundry and, above all, _home_. Harry’s heart has never been quite as full as it is in this moment.

 

“Hi,” he whispers back. Louis’s mess of brunette hair tickles his lips. “How are you?”

 

Louis wraps one of his feet around Harry’s leg, and tilts his face upwards. He’s smiling, crooked and squinty-eyed, and Harry wants to kiss him senseless. “Better now,” he answers cheekily. He tightens his grip around Harry’s neck, forcing the taller boy closer. “Always better when I’m with you, H.”

 

Harry inhales, exhales. He sort of feels like he hasn’t taken a deep breath in weeks. “I missed you,” he tells him seriously. “So fucking much. You wouldn’t even believe...”

 

Louis’s eyes are equal parts warm and sad. He strokes one of Harry’s curls with a hand. “Wouldn’t I?”

 

And that’s it. Harry has reached the end of his limited self-control. He leans his face down, and licks hungrily into Louis’s mouth. Louis responds immediately, his hands grappling and twisting into warm curls. The smaller boy groans, low in his throat, and kisses Harry back feverishly.

 

“Fucking _hell_ , Harry,” Louis hisses, as Harry shoves a thigh between Louis’s legs, and presses him harder against the side of the limousine.

 

Someone, somewhere, loudly clears their throat. Once, twice, three times.

 

Harry presses a final kiss into Louis’s swollen, red mouth, runs his thumb along the prominent planes of his cheekbone, and pulls away. Behind them, looking sheepish and apologetic, stands Adam.

 

Adam is a big man. Not fat or rounded off. Simply big. Tall and covered in muscle. He is a big man, and Harry has to fight back hysterical giggles as this enormous man blushes bright pink, and stares very obviously at his feet.

 

“I, uh, I am terribly sorry for interrupting,” he is saying, tripping and stumbling over his words. “We need to move you and Mr. Tomlinson to a more secure location. There was a pap spotted out front.”

 

Behind him, Harry hears Louis heave a loud, frustrated sigh. Fingers curl gently around Harry’s wrist, tugging him towards the waiting car. “C’mon, love,” Louis murmurs. “We can go back to your hotel. Catch up there.”

 

Harry nods. He allows Louis to coax him into the backseat of the limousine, while Adam takes him designated place up front.

 

Louis’s fingers twine themselves through Harry’s hair once more, rubbing and stroking absentmindedly. Harry is touching Louis too. He has one hand on his knee, another curled around his bicep. It’s always been like this. Whenever they’re finally able to be alone together, after weeks of careful separation and years of keeping their secrets buried, it’s nearly impossible to keep their hands to themselves.

 

Who knows when next they can be together like this? Better not to waste a second of it.

 

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Harry says softly. “Of course I’m glad to see you, Lou, but why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Louis smiles, so warm and so fond that Harry can feel himself melting, like he’s sixteen and pathetically, _transparently_ in love all over again. “I didn’t know I was coming myself,” he responds, quirking both eyebrows minutely. “But I had to see you, H. I wanted you to be the very first person to hear it.”

 

Harry is instantly confused. “Hear what, love?”

 

“‘Back to You’,” Louis says, his eyes sparkling like twin gemstones. “God, I’m…I’m _so_ bloody fucking proud of this one. So I just hopped on the first plane I could find.” He bites his bottom lip adorably. “Your opinion is the most important to me, H. I don’t trust anyone the way I trust you.”

 

Harry feels himself warm, from the inside out. He can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, steadily picking up its pace. His hands on Louis feel slick. He adjusts his grip, and slips one of his legs over Louis’s.

 

“I love you,” he murmurs, touching his nose very softly to Louis’s. He presses his lips to the cleanly-shaven flesh of his cheek, and inhales against his skin. “I love you every hour of every day, Louis. And I’m going to love this song just as much.”

 

He doesn’t know how to accurately express the dizzying relief he feels, being back in Louis’s presence after nearly two weeks apart (the maximum amount that they had set years ago). Whenever he is apart from his boyfriend (a silly word, Harry has always thought, that in no way encompasses the infinite love he has for this boy), it’s like half of him is missing. His eyes go dull, his smile becomes faded, his energy lessons, and his stomach aches like it’s hollow.  

 

It’s bad for his health, Harry decides, to be without Louis Tomlinson. He’s always sort of known that.

 

Louis nuzzles his face against Harry’s, eyes shut. “I love you, too,” he whispers back.

 

Harry’s mouth is a breath away from Louis’s. Every nerve in his body is raw and aching, begging him to close the tiny gap, but Harry holds himself back. He swallows, knowing that what he’s about to say will effectively ruin whatever promise this moment holds. “When do you have to leave again?”

 

 _When do you have to leave_ me _again?_

Louis sighs, and pulls away. His hands fall into his lap, and Harry has his answer.

 

“Tomorrow, then,” Harry says quietly. His throat hurts like something’s stopping it up. He tilts his head upwards to try to stop the stinging in his eyes. He heaves a shuddery breath. “Tomorrow morning, yeah?”

 

Louis answers with a soft, defeated, “Yeah.”

 

A chill zips through Harry. He can practically feel his blood run cold in his veins. “Not even twenty-four hours,” he murmurs, only half for Louis’s benefit.

 

Louis has gone notably silent. Harry touches his chin. “What is it? Just tell me, Lou. Whatever it is, we can get through it.”

 

The blue-eyed boy looks up from his lap. For the first time since his arrival, Harry notes purple circles blooming beneath Louis’s eyes. He hasn’t been sleeping, Harry notes in alarm.

 

“It’s another stunt,” Louis finally admits, looking ashamed.

 

“A girl?”

 

Louis nods after a moment.

 

“Who?”

 

His expression is wretched as he says, “It’s Eleanor, Harry.”

 

Harry feels like he’s had the wind knocked from his lungs. His eyes widen. “Oh,” is the only thing he can think to say. “Oh.”

 

“She’s flying in tomorrow. I’m meant to meet her at Heathrow. Be photographed together.”

 

Harry nods robotically. “The Sun is going to have a field day with this. That git, Dan Wooton, loves writing his bullshit articles about your many, many conquests.”

 

Louis looks up sharply. “Please don’t make jokes, H. I don’t find it particularly funny.”

 

“Sorry. It’s easier to joke than face what this actually means.”

 

Louis shakes his head furiously. He cups both hands around the back of Harry’s neck, and forces their eyes to meet. “No. It doesn’t mean _anything_ , Harry. You have to remember that. The only thing that matters, is _you_. Us.” He swallows. “Nothing is more important to me than being together with you.”

 

Harry manages a tiny smile, though he knows it won’t convince Louis, who can read him better than any person on this earth. “I do know that, Lou.  Believe me.”

 

A sigh. Louis’s fingers ease up on the flesh of Harry’s neck as his body relaxes. “Anyway. We don’t have to think about any of that shite tonight. It’s just you and me right now, yeah? Let’s just enjoy it.”

 

Harry leans in and kisses Louis’s subconscious frown, trying to smooth it into a smile with his lips. He immediately feels the tension drain from his shoulders, and deepens the kiss. He touches his tongue lightly to Louis’s, feeling a pool of warmth begin to form at the bottom of his stomach. Louis lets out a breathy little noise, and pushes his chest firmly against Harry’s.

 

It’s been far too long, and Harry’s body knows this all too well. He realizes that he’s been unconsciously rutting against Louis’s leg, and a low moan tears its way out of his throat. Louis, hearing him, chuckles darkly, and adjusts his thigh to give Harry better access.

 

“Careful, love,” he intones in obvious amusement. “The driver can hear us.”

 

Harry almost doesn’t care. After a long moment—and a display of self-control that he wasn’t aware he had—he sighs and pulls back. Louis’s eyes are soft with emotion, caught somewhere between desire and regret.

 

Louis links his pinky through Harry’s, a sweet gesture that takes him back to the old days, when they didn’t have to hide. “I missed you,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

 

“I missed you, too,” says Harry. “I miss you every second of every day, Lou. Being apart like this all the time…,” he shakes his head, struggling to come up with the right words. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

 

Louis looks alarmed. “What does that mean?”

 

Harry immediately places his free hand on Louis’s cheek, soothing the wild look from his bottle-glass eyes. “It just means I miss you,” Harry whispers. “It just means I don’t feel whole without you.”

 

“This isn’t forever,” Louis returns, a little shaky. “Soon, _very_ soon, we’ll never have to be apart again. I promise you, H.”

 

Harry nods. “I know.”

 

Louis rests his forehead against Harry’s, fluttering his eyelids shut. “I love you. You are the most important thing, Harry. Isn’t that enough for now?”

 

The answer is immediately obvious. Because, yes, there are some days when Harry can scarcely force himself out of bed, and the empty sheets beside him feel like a gunshot wound to the chest. There are days that he spots a tabloid with Louis’s face splashed across it, and the rage almost cuts him off at the knees. There are days that he finds himself hypnotized by his laptop screen, trying valiantly to find an excuse to fly to Louis’s side.

 

“Of course it’s enough,” Harry says. “All I’ve ever wanted it you, Louis. I’ve always been willing to do whatever it takes. That will never change.”

 

And to prove it, Harry keeps his hand locked in Louis’s, even as hotel security rushes them through the kitchen entrance. It’s a tiny, miniscule act of defiance, and there’s certainly no one around to witness it, but it feels right.

 

They take the service elevator up to the top floor, booked privately for the Dunkirk cast and crew, and tumble into Harry’s room, still wrapped up in one another. When Louis lays him gently out on the bed, they’re both smiling, hazy and fond.

 

Louis fucks him slow, and Harry cries as he comes.

 

Afterwards, Harry lays flat on his back, eyes mapping lazy patterns across the ceiling. Louis settles on his stomach beside him, looking so soft and beautiful that Harry’s teeth ache. He loves that he gets this side of Louis; strip away all of his outer layers, and this is what remains.

 

Glazed, turquoise eyes. Pink, swollen mouth. He looks so young right now, an exact replica of the eighteen year old kid Harry had fallen in love with so many years ago.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Louis murmurs, vocalizing Harry’s own thoughts. He reaches a fingertip out, and traces delicate circles around Harry’s lips. “I fell in love with the most beautiful boy in the entire world.”

 

“That can’t be,” Harry says, very seriously. “Because _I_ did.”

 

Louis chuckles tiredly. The hand on Harry’s mouth moves to cup his chin. He slips his mouth over Harry’s, kisses him long and slow.

 

“You’re tired, H,” he murmurs. “You have a long day ahead of you. Go to sleep, love.”

 

Fear seizes his stomach. He traps Louis’s hand against his own face. “I can’t.”

 

Louis hums. “Why not, darling?”

 

“I don’t want to wake up without you.”

 

Louis smiles sadly. “You know I would stay, if I could. You have to wake up tomorrow, and go be a proper movie star. You don’t need me for that, H. You never have.”

 

Harry shakes his head, whispers, “Louis, I _always_ need you.”

 

At this, Louis folds his arms around Harry’s neck, and presses himself as close to Harry as possible. Harry can feel eyelashes kissing his cheek. He shuts his eyes, and buries his face in the warm dip of Louis’s collarbone.

 

One moment, Harry’s conscious, and the next, everything goes black.

 

-

 

Harry’s alarm begins blaring from the bedside table. He reaches reflexively for his phone to turn it off, groaning loudly in protest. “Bloody hell,” he mutters, voice rugged with sleep. “Off, you damned thing!”

 

He manages to switch the sound off, and collapses back against his mountain of pillows. He’s already well on his way to falling back asleep, when his mind snaps into laser-focus, and he’s suddenly ramrod straight.

 

Louis.

 

The sheets beside him are cold and empty. Harry leaps out of bed. Thoughts muddled with hysteria, he crashes into the bathroom. His stomach drops like deadweight to his toes.

 

His hotel room is empty, and so is he.

 

He returns to the main room, and stumbles blearily back towards the bed. A voicemail, only a few hours old, is waiting for him on his phone. With trembling fingers, Harry presses the phone to his ear, and listens intently.

 

Immediately, Louis’s soft voice fills his ears.

 

“Morning, baby,” comes a raspy, morning drawl. “I’m sorry I had to leave before you woke up, but I knew if I’d waited, neither of us would ever get out of bed.”

 

Harry can feel his heart clench painfully in his chest, because he knows. He knows Louis is right.

 

“I’ve downloaded an audio file onto your phone,” Louis continues. “I hope you like it, H. Just like every other part of me, this song belongs to you.” There’s a long, breathy pause, and Harry has to bite down on his knuckles to keep from crying.

 

“I’ll see you soon, Harry,” Louis’s voice sounds wet now, matching the moisture in Harry’s own eyes. “Half of me is always with you, anyways.”

 

The message cuts off there. Harry is numb all over as he tosses his phone halfheartedly onto the bed, and holds a hand to his chest. He can feel his heart thundering beneath his fingers. He can feel the distance between them—growing larger by the second—like a cord tied around and tugging at his internal organs.

 

It’s always like this, every time he leaves. Harry had once expected the pain—scraping and nauseating and mind-numbing—to lesson over time. But every time since the first, it still takes his breath away.

 

His arm moves robotically, reaching for where he’d discarded his phone. He unlocks it with a thumb. It doesn’t take him long to locate a freshly downloaded audio file. He squeezes his eyes shut, and lies back against cool sheets. His finger finds the button marked _play_ , and everything around him falls away.

 

Much later, after a thousand replays, and enough tears to fill an ocean, Harry sits in a makeup chair attempting to explain away his raw eyes and puffy skin. He has his text messages open in his lap.

 

He’s not sure the words he wants—the words he’s searching for—even exist. He cannot fathom how to describe the amount of pride pressing down like a weight on his chest, stopping up his throat. He keeps writing, then deleting, words that are almost enough, but not quite.

 

There aren’t enough words in the English language to explain how much Harry Styles loves Louis Tomlinson. He knows this; he’s tried time and time again.

 

Thousands of miles away, Louis smiles at the sound of his text alert chiming. The message is long and beautiful and distinctly _Harry_. Louis is so pleased, he nearly misses the arrival of a second text.

 

_My entire heart is yours, Louis Tomlinson, but you knew that already. Come home soon xx._

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!! Please feel free to leave a comment or kudo. 
> 
> Lots of love to everyone xx.


End file.
